Chapter Text
They were tired. Drained. Worn from the dispiriting events of the last 4 days. A single misstep might cost them everything, but in the face of adolescent rage, exhaustion is secondary.
Whatever vitriol they had built up towards the damned Wens spilled over, working to aid them in crushing this grotesque beast.
Fuck broken legs and branded chests.
This beast was going down, and they were going home one way or another.
Wei Wuxian breached from inside, keeping its dangerously corrosive jaws open by stabbing through resistance and sinew alike with the rusted, old metal sword, gritting his teeth through the onslaught of resentful energy it brimmed with.
Lan Wangji strangled it from the outside, unyielding and precise as ever, as expected of the Second Jade of Lan. It was honestly amusing how he still managed to maintain such grace, his movements measured and immaculate, as if he was barely exerting himself, even though that was far from reality.
Neither adolescent allowed the malformed beast to take even an inch, let alone spare it a single breath or a fraction of ground.
(Attempt the impossible, eh)
The beast struggled, howling in pain, violently flailing about, thrashing whirlpools into the once still water, fracturing the surface into droplets of chaos.
Being malformed, it was not a very intelligent beast to begin with, and Wei Wuxian—ever the picture of humility—would probably end up using that as an excuse to downplay his accomplishment, perhaps even wave it off as a simple inevitable. But for now, pride, modesty were all irrelevant. They would stop at nothing.
The beast was mad with pain, having never before experienced such agony. It reared its obnoxiously large head and barged violently around the never-truly-serene depths of water it once considered sanctuary.
With one freakishly strong boy wedged in its mouth and another strangling its most vital part with a sharp bowstring, the beast could neither bite down nor move as the bowstring dug deeper into the thinnest part of its flesh inch by excruciating inch.
The more it cut, the more blood gushed out from where soft scales used to be.
Wei Wuxian held tight inside, refusing to yield and Lan Wangji kept the string yanked taut, steady fingers not letting up for even a moment.
Six hours.
This went on for six hours.
After six grueling hours, the Xuanwu of Slaughter slowed. Staggering, it croaked out its last futile attempts at expressing pain before formally ceasing movement altogether.
The beast’s neck was now almost completely severed by Lan Wangji’s bowstring. The Lan’s Killer Chord Technique really held up to its name! The bowstring was still around its neck, though no longer held taut or biting mercilessly, instead laying sunken into the corrosive flesh.
Having overexerted himself, Lan Wangji’s palms were covered in fresh wounds. His normally jade-like fingers were drenched in gaudy hues of crimson blood.
The colossal shell of the beast floated on the surface of the black lake’s waters, which were now visibly dyed a horrid mauve. The coppery stench was so thick that the scene seemed like a bloody punishment arena from purgatory.
The beast’s pupils were glazed over, yet its jaws were clenched shut somehow. Lan Wangji did not waste time, diving headfirst into the bloody water.
“Wei Ying!”
No answer. Some struggle later, he managed to pry open its jaws, and was greeted by the sight of Wei Wuxian curled up like a shrimp, bracing against agony only the two of them would know.
Dark hair fell forward, obscuring his expression, hands weakly digging into the rusted sword’s blunt blade, his only tether to the mortal world still. Not really though, as Wei Wuxian was on the verge of sliding down the beast's throat!
Lan Wangji was quick to haul him up by the collar, grasping tightly onto the boy he’d never admit to be his lifeline. Wrapping a tired arm around the Yunmeng disciple’s waist, he kept them both afloat in the inked water long enough to paddle to the cave’s rocky shores.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes were shut, lashes casting grim shadows over his youthful, rosy cheeks, as he was sprawled limply against Lan Wangji. One arm was loosely draped around his shoulders, not much of an anchor as his weight rested against the Second Jade of Lan without resistance.
Once they were out of the murky waters, Lan Wangji wasted no time in shaking Wei Wuxian’s body, calling for some sign of awareness, perhaps even a flicker of response—anything—but instead finding little to no resistance, much to his growing concern.
No.
“Wei Ying.”
“Hnhhh…”
“Wei Ying…”
An uncomfortable silence started coating the air, tangling with the dreadful stench of death and exhaustion. Lan Wangji did not like how the air tasted.
“Wei… Ying?”
Silence. We Wuxian did not stir.
“Wei Ying!”
“Lan… Zhan.”
A low groan resonated. Thankfully.
Weak, barely there. The name never sounded like it belonged on his tongue more; though thin, fraying, and gritting through pain he couldn’t yet verbalise.
Lan Wangji stilled, never knowing Wei Ying to be so… docile. Even when injured and worn to the bone, the Wei Ying he knew was a flippant boy, determined to play the jester even with the courts burnt to ashes.
Wei Wuxian’s lashes parted slightly, quivering as though that simple act demanded more strength than he possessed. They sought something, but Lan Wangji didn’t yet know what.
His lips twitched, eyes attempting to crescent, to form the familiar, irreverent smile that not even the world ending could shake off.
The same smile that had undone the Second Jade of Lan over and over and over again, eyes perpetually twinkling with mirth, though this time, it never quite settled.
The unformed ghosts of crescents dimmed. Lan Wangji doesn’t remember them lighting up in the first place. Still, they dulled, slipped, stilled, and glazed over into something Lan Wangji couldn’t follow.
No.
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no.
NO.
“Wei Wuxian!”
Warm. Yunmeng Jiang’s head disciple was warm to the touch— burning, even. Like the fire in his eyes had spread to his skin, burrowing under Lan Wangji’s cool cheek, pressed against his forehead.
The damp clothes clinging to both of their bodies did little to cool the raging inferno that was Wei Wuxian. The heat clung stubbornly to a body that still had not let go.
No.
A body this warm should not be this heavy.
Should not hang so loosely in Lan Wangji’s arms. Should not be holding on so stubbornly to a soul that had probably, by now, dispersed. Though, Lan Wangji reckons it to be an impossible feat, dispersing a soul as stubborn as Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian is still, too goddamn still, which he’d never been in his 18 years on earth. Even in his ghastly timed sleep (Lan Wangji cringed at his wreck of a sleep schedule, courtesy of his own strict Lan upbringing) there was always something. Movement. A restless kick of leg, a quiet breath of laughter, a careless roll of someone who never stayed put.
Now, there was none of it.
Lan Wangji’s fingers did not dare inch towards Wei Wuxian’s wrist. He did not yet want confirmation of what he already knew— did not want the quiet certainty of it settling under his skin.
Not yet. Not when the fragile illusion of uncertainty still lingered, thin as mist, stubbornly refusing to dissipate. He's ready to indulge the illusion for once.
Yet, against his better judgement, (and sanity, apparently), his crimson-dyed fingers inched towards a wrist he’d once itched to twist and pin to his Library Pavillion’s floor—
He waits. Two fingers rest steady under the base of Wei Wuxian’s thumb, waiting for the steady thrum under sticky skin and bone he knows is not coming. He still waits.
Waits for a snarky, well meaning quip about his pedantry and lack of patience, which makes Lan Wangji internally roll his eyes. If anything, Lan Wangji has too much patience, but semantics are so last season.
Waits for a tired, crooked grin, the one Wei Wuxian was supposed to give him around 10 minutes ago, the ghost of which still hangs from the cave’s rocky ceilings, and from Lan Wangji’s curled eyelashes. Wei Ying is still taunting him somehow, it seems.
Unwaveringly patient fingers lose their patience, pressing hard against Wei Ying’s wrist, as if doing that would make a pulse reappear. Maybe, he'll find a frail wisp of something that makes—
“Wei… Ying...”
Raw. It's more raw than Lan Wangji ever recalls having sounded.
Lan Wangji lets his wrist go, but still cradles his limp head against his lap. His hands move only to keep Wei Wuxian from slipping away completely.
Once again, he presses his cheek to Wei Wuxian’s forehead. Burning still, raging like the fire that slipped the Yunmeng Jiang disciple’s eyes. Like the restraint he never really had, which grated on Lan Wangji's every nerve until the Second Jade of Lan realised it never really did.
Wei Wuxian is as stubborn as a mule. Was. Somewhat hedonistic in the way he traipsed about life with his heart stitched into his sleeve. On the inside though, where no one saw it.
But Lan Wangji always sensed that whenever someone callously brushed up against the sleeve, it probably sent a dull kind of friction through Wei Wuxian. The kind that lingered behind his affinity for recklessness.
The heat is as stubborn as Wei Wuxian himself is. Was.
For the longest moment, Lan Wangji stays as still as the Xuanwu’s corpse, now contaminating the lake’s water. His nose brushes against Wei Wuxian’s crown, breathing in the scent of iron, rust, lake water, and the last 4 days trapped with each other in this god-forsaken cave.
His fingers travel their way back to Wei Wuxian’s wrist without thinking. They moved of their own accord, but Lan Wangji did little to stop them. Fingers settle there again, still stupidly hoping for the steady thrum he took for granted.
His touch is light, so light, as if the slightest pressure might scare away the pulse he’s mentally trying to coax back.
Wei Wuxian does not stir. Neither does Lan Wangji.
Raging flames licked at Lan Wangji’s cheek, originating from Wei Wuxian’s skin.
Cruelly, the warmth remained.
Wei Wuxian did not.